Torchwood Professionals
by Jessie Blackwood
Summary: Something is sending people into psychotic frenzies but CI5 are baffled. What began as kids and grannies is now affecting cabinet minsters, but there seems to be no reason and toxicology is clean. Cue Torchwood, 1970's style.


**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, etc. etc. etc. no infringement of copyright intended, etc, etc. just playing with them, like everyone else here.**

**Warning: I'm going to rate it an M now for potential future situations. It's the boys, what can you do? **

_Something is causing psychotic rage in its victims and CI5 thinks it must be some kind of new drug that is being released on the streets. When the victims show no abnormal toxicology reports, they have to assume something else, but what? Germ warfare? Nerve gas? Cue Torchwood and one Captain Jack Harkness with a reason nobody will believe…_

**December 1978 - **

"Aw, come on, doc, there must be something!"

"I wish I could give you a result, Doyle, but there isn't one."

"I cannot believe that toxicology showed up one big nothing! You sure they couldn't have made a mistake?"

The doctor looked ruffled. "I sent three sets of samples to three separate places, as per Cowley's request. They all returned the same—negative—he's clean."

"Well, I don't believe it!"

"Tough, what else can I do? I sent the samples to two of the foremost forensic labs in the country and as well as our own clinical lab, and they all turned up nothing. I cannot see what more we can do…"

"What's the fuss?" Bodie leaned against the door frame taking in the scene. The doctor turned to him.

"Maybe you can knock some sense into him," he snapped. "The results came up negative and your partner there can't accept it, the corpse is clean…"

"Clean? How? You sure?"

"God, not you as well," the doctor groaned. "Here!" and he slapped the report into Bodie's hands. "Read it. Take it to Cowley and let him read it. There's nothing else I can do."

Doyle stormed off down the corridor, Bodie trotting to keep up. He was trying to read the file as he followed but it made little sense.

"Doyle, wait up!" he called but the man slammed through the exit doors, out into the street and into the car, slumping down in the passenger seat of the Capri. Slipping the file onto the back seat, Bodie got in and started the engine. "Look Sunshine, if three samples came back negative from three different places, they're negative, right?" he pulled smoothly out into the lunchtime traffic and headed back to HQ. Doyle huffed and said nothing.

**0o0o0o0o0**

"Negative?" Cowley frowned. "How can that be? Nothing in his system at all?" he was looking through the files with his usual intensity.

"Either that or the labs cocked up again!" Doyle said viciously.

"Easy Tiger," Bodie murmured.

"What's eating you, Doyle?" Cowley demanded. "You're very fired up about this case…"

Doyle took a deep breath and ran a hand through his unruly curls, letting the breath go shakily. He was reluctant to admit he was closer than he should be, emotionally involved to some degree. "Nothing, sir, it just seemed so cut and dried. I was so sure…"

"Yes, well, nothing about this is cut and dried, Doyle, and don't you forget that." Cowley retorted, tight lipped. "There has to have been some other means behind this, or, if it is still the result of a drug, then it disappears from the victim's system very quickly indeed and that is worrying, very worrying."

**0o0o0o0o0**

Jack was sitting reading the newspaper that morning, scanning for anything that might indicate rift activity the previous night. Not for the first time he railed against the technologically backward world he was stranded on, Torchwood or no Torchwood. He hated not being able to access information much quicker than the television news or the newspapers. Despite having more than half a century to get used to it, he hadn't. No PCs, the computers were at best slow, even though the ones they had were far in advance of anything any other government department ran. Despite the advanced and wonderful crystaline being that made up the heart of Torchwood 3's mainframe, it only had current earth tech to work with. Jack had made some adjustments but frankly it was like asking Sterling Moss to win formula one in a Morris Minor. There wasn't much in the way of CCTV and most of that was grainy enough to be well-nigh useless. No world wide web either. Boy, did he miss the almost instant communications of his own time, even the internet of the late 20th century would have been an improvement. No mobile phones and, while their radio units were longer range and more sensitive than most, they were, at best, still short range communicators. While Torchwood had the best in alien tech as well as the most advanced human tech they could lay hands on, they were only as good as the network they were connected to. Global communications were still down to telex machines and telephones. He gave up the paper and switched on radio one, Neil Diamond's Beautiful Noise was closely followed by Abba signing Fernando. He tuned to the police radio frequencies and tried not to pace the floor.

"What's up, Jack? Life not going fast enough again?" Abigail Trent and James McDougal came through the door, shedding coats and scarves and hats now they were out of the cold December weather of Cardiff Bay.

Aware that he had been grumbling almost non stop, Jack grinned and switched off the radio. James was an ex-Police Constable and Abby was a doctor, they cohabited in a flat near Bute Park, sharing more than just the rent. Abby's mother was scandalised that her daughter wouldn't even entertain the notion of marriage yet shared her bed with a man. Abby was fond of saying that in this enlightened age her mother should be thankful she wasn't sharing her bed with a woman.

That was something Jack was thankful for, that being gay had finally been decriminalised, even if only relatively recently. It meant he could relax around other men, date a good-looking guy at last without looking over his shoulder, well, not too much any way. There were always some guys willing to do a little 'gay-bashing' in their spare time and while Jack could look after himself, he had no wish to have his evening destroyed by idiots on the lookout for trouble. Worse, the Police often turned a blind eye to such trouble, those who were openly homophobic even encouraged it.

Abby was scanning the print-outs for recent activity reported through Torchwood London. She tore off the print out and read the reports, finding out most of them had been dealt with. As she read, the phone rang, and James answered it.

"Torchwood Lighting Services, how can we help you today?"

Jack smirked. That was James's own idea, cover for their operation.

"Yes, sir, he's here. Hang on." He covered the mouthpiece of the phone and said "It's HQ, for you."

Jack reached out and took the phone. "Harkness."

"Jack?"

"Harry, how are you?"

"Fine, Jack. Listen, can your team do without you for a couple of weeks? There's something going down round here that means we could do with your expertise."

"What, you mean you need someone expendable?"

"Possibly," Harry laughed. "No, there's something suspicious going down and it's not pretty. People are turning psychotic and there's no apparent cause. It's been turned over to CI5 and frankly they don't have a clue either. It looked like it might be drugs but the toxicology keeps coming up negative. Recently, however, a member of the Cabinet went nuts and nearly killed someone. He's been admitted to a psychiatric unit for evaluation, so the PM is justifiably not pleased."

"Have you run the samples past our guys?"

"Yes, negative on all counts."

"That's a kick in the ass. So what now?"

"Could be some kind of tech, the witnesses report the subjects are all seemingly normal until they just go berserk. Around 48 hours later they're fine, protesting their innocence and demanding to be told what's going on. Nothing seems to trigger it, they just lose it and then they cannot remember it afterwards."

"Smells, sounds, phone calls, food? Anything?"

"No common threads at all. Believe me we're interviewed the witnesses over and over. Nothing, a big fat zero. They can remember smelling roses, vanilla, dog shit, garlic bread, somebody's perfume, it's always different. They can remember car horns, dogs barking, trains, aeroplanes, telephones ringing, tap dancing…"

"Tap dancing?"

"On television."

"Right."

"One fella was on his way to bed, one was having sex, one woman was reading a book, one was taking her kids to school. One was teaching, for God's sake. Some teenager went nuts at the cinema while another attacked his foster parents. So far, in one week, we've had a localised total of 83 people within a twenty mile radius of the centre of London. If you look at their locations, the epicentre is Hyde Park. We've been over it with a fine tooth comb but found nothing. Speculation is rife and every police department is justifiably nervous. Special Branch is on the alert. Cowley is under pressure. The PM is demanding results and everyone is blaming everyone else for the lack of progress."

"Hell, yeah," Jack said with a grin. "What happens if a member of the Royal Family should suddenly lose it and start throttling the corgis?"

"Not funny Jack," Harry said although his voice was strained. Jack thought he was trying not to laugh but couldn't be sure.

"No, you're right. This is serious," Jack said, sobering up, seeing Abby was also trying to stifle her laughter. "Look, Harry, I'll be down as soon as I can clear it with the boss. Traffic willing, I should be with you in a few hours."

"I'll call and arrange for us to meet with Cowley when you arrive. You might be best to work directly with them."

"How much do they know about us?"

"As little as possible. Cowley and myself are good friends, we're members of the same club for goodness sake, but he's still sceptical. He used to head up MI5. Prefers to see things in front of his face before he believes. Talk to him about aliens and he'd laugh you off the face of the earth. Star Wars is still only in George Lucas' mind as far as he is concerned. Come to HQ and meet me and we'll go on from there."

**0o0o0o0o0**

Alan wasn't pleased but he couldn't ignore a call from London HQ. Alan Grant was a good leader but he liked to hang onto his free-lance operative. Letting him go to London was not high on his wish-list. Jack commandeered the Landrover for the trip, it was a go-anywhere vehicle, rugged enough to handle a lot of things. It was also big enough to sleep in if the need arose. The long wheelbase could accommodate somebody sleeping on the floor at the back between the bench seats. Its bodywork had been reinforced by a professional garage, it had been bomb-proofed, armoured, fixed with toughened glass and given a dark blue paint job. The impressive 'T' for Torchwood had been stencilled on the roof and the back windows were all polarised. He grinned as he drove, not even the number plate was registered with the DVLA. That caused no end of headaches for Meter Maids.

London was bustling and a pain in the ass as usual. It was also cold, wet and dreary. Jack hated having to visit Torchwood One and made no bones about it back in Cardiff. He hated the uncertainty of the city, it was a target for IRA bombers as well as foreign terrorists of all kinds. Sometimes it wasn't clear exactly what was alien and what was human causing the chaos but it was Torchwood's responsibility to find out.

He pulled into the underground car park of the Torchwood Institute in the centre of the city and offered his ID to the man in the security hut at the gate. He was waved through and he parked in a vacant slot near the lift and got out. A desultory pigeon flapped across his path and the lift took ages to appear. He travelled up to the 8th floor and got out, facing the Torchwood Reception desk.

"Captain Harkness for Harry Langham?" he said. "He's expecting me."

"Yes, sir, he is," the young woman behind the desk said, flashing a smile which won her one the Harkness specials. She thumbed a button on her telephone console. "Sir Harry?" she said. "Captain Harkness has arrived." There was a muffled response and she smiled. "Please go in," she said and pointed to the door next to them.

Harry was a small man of middle years, greying and a little brusque but he had always been warm toward Jack.

"Good to see you." He extended a calloused hand that gripped confidently. "This business has really got the security services shaken up," he said seriously as he waved Jack to a seat. "We have no idea who might go off next or where. God forbid if it is one of the Royals, despite your joke on the telephone. Damage control has been difficult to say the least. One of the cabinet going off the deep end hasn't helped."

"So what do we know?" Jack accepted a heavy lead crystal glass that Harry offered him and took a sip from the generous measure of brandy swirling round inside it. If there was one thing Harry Langham didn't stint on it was the quality of his drink.

"Not much," Harry replied. "The epicentre seems to be Hyde Park. We've had the dogs out, the metal detectors out, the whole place has been sealed off and combed. Nothing. Newspapers are putting out IRA bomb threat stories as cover. Every victim has been quizzed, assessed, examined and re-examined, both medically and psychologically. Witnesses have been interviewed, statements taken. Nothing is consistent; nothing seems to be amiss with the victims before they go off the deep end and nothing seems to be amiss after they recover."

"Two questions. Number one, have you checked _under_ the park? And two, have the people who have been attacked, the victims, got anything in common? We've looked at the people who've been affected, but does anything connect their victims?"

Harry looked at him for a fraction of a second before picking up his phone and asking to speak to Wilson James. James was head of their investigative branch. Langham spoke briefly to him, outlining the suggestions and telling him to get on with it quickly, top priority.

"I believe we did look underground, sewers and train tunnels, that kind of thing, but James can check that out. However, I'm not so sure we concentrated on the victims of the subjects." He smiled.

"Why me, Harry?" Jack asked bluntly.

If Langham was thrown by the comment that came a little out of left field, he didn't show it. "Because I know you will come back, if anything untoward happens," he admitted. "Frankly, I can't have this handled by anyone else. I know, Jack, but this is urgent and dangerous. If it affects our law enforcement, then we really could be screwed. Terrorist activity is on the rise. This would provide the perfect weak spot to exploit and we cannot allow that to happen as I am sure you are very much aware. If we believe half of the reports from UNIT about their involvement with the Doctor, and believe me, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart seems to be wholeheartedly in favour of the man despite Torchwood's original purpose, the picture is one of extraterrestrial enemies on a grand scale that we actually know nothing about. Personally, I believe Torchwood's assessment of the Doctor is more pertinent, that trouble follows him and we need to keep him either subdued or away. However, that doesn't remove alien threats that would step in to take advantage of any weakness in our defences caused by an own goal." Jack listened and resisted rising to the bait about the Doctor. Even he was unsure where the man stood any more. He agreed about the threat level though. Any weakness now would be mercilessly exploited and he knew quite a few races who would just love to strip Earth's resources, not to mention a few terrorist organisations hell bent on anarchy.

"So where do we come in?" Jack wanted to know. "How are we going to integrate with CI5?"

"Not 'we', Jack, you. I need you in there undercover. It's dangerous, these guys are the plain clothes civilian SAS. They don't pull punches and they don't suffer fools." Harry fixed him with a look. "They put their lives on the line almost every day. You do not want to cross them, nor do we want to mess with what they do. They have a few ops on at the moment that do not need interfering with and they won't thank you for bringing Torchwood into this one. But they know they're beaten on this. It's gone beyond what they understand."

"And you presumably want me to go undercover in there? You don't want them knowing about this, right?"

Harry shook his head. "Bang on the nail, we need to keep this under wraps. Do not tell them anything, clear? The only one who knows anything is their leader, George Cowley and even he is downright sceptical so keep it simple, Jack."

"Clear." This job had suddenly got a whole lot harder.

**0o0o0o0o0**

Cowley glowered into his glass and swirled the brown liquid round thoughtfully. He was waiting for Harry Langham and his guest to show for lunch at the club. He didn't like foreign operatives placed with his men. Torchwood were an unknown quantity, the shadowy side of special ops, dealing with stuff he really did not believe in. However, they were funded by the Crown and, as such, deserved a little respect, even if he did think they were a bunch of lunatics and eccentrics. Mad dogs and Englishmen. Harry was the most sane of all of them and, for now at least, Cowley could tolerate the department because of its leader. He had a deal of respect for Harold Langham and it would take a lot to shake that.

The 'guest' turned out to be a brash American with a dazzling smile and looks to match, although he was surprisingly respectful and seemed to take the job seriously, allowing Harry to finish his explanation without interruption. The man had sat there quietly, nursing a single malt. He had openly appreciated the bouquet and apparently savoured the taste. Cowley allowed himself to be vaguely impressed. Unlike plenty of his countrymen, he did not throw it down his neck in one swallow, rather he took the time to appreciate it.

"Captain Harkness will be placed with you for the duration of this operation," Harry was saying. "He's not trained in the manner of your own operatives but he is an expert and he has plenty of experience. He is our representative until we conclude this unfortunate business."

"And I get no choice in the matter!" Cowley snapped, hating being told what to do.

"Sir?" the American, Harkness or whatever his name was, spoke up.

"Yes?"

"Sir, I'm sorry if this inconveniences you but I have no choice in the matter either. I'm being ordered to do this as well. I have no intention of getting in your way but I have a job to do in the interests of National Security and do it I will. Your job is counter-terrorism, mine might be alien in origin but really, there's no difference."

"I believe in things I can see, young man." Harkness smiled at that and earned a glower from Cowley.

"Oh, trust me when I say this, sir," he said sincerely, "you might find yourself seeing things you can believe in sooner than you think."

_**So what did you think? Please tell me if you'd like more, if you feel there are possibilities. Reviews are always welcome. I can't promise to update frequently, but I will do my best. **_


End file.
